


Submission - the act of submitting or surrendering to the power of another

by DjJenchei



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, John is sexy when he does the army thing, M/M, Not a whole lot of plot, Submission, after season 4, sherlock has a praise kink, so basically porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 21:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16146191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DjJenchei/pseuds/DjJenchei
Summary: You will be completely naked, on the bed, on all fours, face down, arse up, hands stretched above you when I get home. You will not utter a word unless spoken to. Clear?John stared at the text for five minutes before deciding it was as good as it would get and pressed send. The one worded reply came a minute later and John couldn’t help but to grin to himself before dwelling in to the utterly boring part of his profession.





	Submission - the act of submitting or surrendering to the power of another

The evening shift was nearly over, thank god! The time wasn’t flying by rather than crawling, as if knowing John had made plans for the remaining evening. And he had. He was nearly aching in his jeans at the thought of what waited for him at home. Sherlock would’ve followed his instructions to the letter and a thrum of eager anticipation ran through him.

Somewhere in the middle of his shift he’d sent Sherlock a text to prepare himself for him. He was to wash himself _thoroughly_ an hour before John was to come home. And thoroughly he’d meant Sherlock was to use the douche and clean himself internally (even though Sherlock was brilliant, sometimes he was lazy and overlooked certain things and John as a physician knew the dangers of gay sex even though they were monogamous and tested clean). Just for fun he’d described in a lengthy text how, where and what product he was to use in his washing, imagining the faint flush on Sherlock’s cheeks and chest at the words shining on the screen of his phone.

After the douching instructions he sent another text an hour later (he did have patients after all and he’d already received nasty looks from the receptionist when he waited more than normally before taking another patient in) telling Sherlock was to get the following things ready for him before he got home: lube, the stolen handcuffs (Lestrade’s, of course) and the riding crop.

He’d just seen his last patient and he still had to write up the reports before he could go home to Sherlock. John pulled out his phone and tapped it absentmindedly to his jaw, trying to think of the best wording for his final text of the evening.

_When I get home, I want you to_

No, not that

_Upon my arrival you will be stripped_

No, that doesn’t work either

_You will be completely naked, on the bed, on all fours, face down, arse up, hands stretched above you when I get home. You will not utter a word unless spoken to. Clear?_

John stared at the text for five minutes before deciding it was as good as it would get and pressed send. The one worded reply came a minute later and John couldn’t help but to grin to himself before dwelling in to the utterly boring part of his profession. One would think that being an active blogger and a physician would mean that he was a fast typist, but no. He couldn’t get his finger to work fast and he was still struggling with using more than two of his ten fingers.

 

Once home John shed his coat and toed off his shoes. He took his time going to the bathroom and washing his hands. He was already half hard from anticipation and the knowledge that when he opens the door in to their bedroom, Sherlock would be waiting for him in the position he instructed him to be.

Without haste John washed his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror, taking in the silver hair and lines that came with age and being a dad. Once he was satisfied with the outcome he headed to the bedroom. He opened the door and kept his eyes locked on the door in front of him until he was inside the room and he had closed it behind him.

The view was marvellous, breath taking. Sherlock on his knees, all that pale skin for him to look, touch and taste. “Beautiful.” The word came out more as a breath and Sherlock shuddered. It was beautiful. John was overcome with such an intense sense of love and gratitude and joy and pure lust that he was almost sure he might just pass out from the feeling.

John trailed his fingers over Sherlock’s body from his toes all the way to his scalp. Sherlock’s breath was already quickened and he had his face pressed to the pillow. His whole body twitched when John touched his thighs and arse. When his fingers threaded through Sherlock’s hair the lithe man shivered. It hadn’t taken long into their relationship to find out that Sherlock loved having his head touched and hair pulled.

“Eyes on me, Sherlock.” John kneeled on the side of the bed and smiled at Sherlock once he had his head turned towards him. John had his hand still on Sherlock’s head, massaging the scalp and he leaned in to place a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead.

“Okay?” Even though he basically ordered Sherlock to do what he wanted, he needed to know he was up for it.

“Yes.” John brushed a kiss on cheek and a sigh escaped Sherlock’s lips. The thought that Sherlock trusted him enough to do this with him made John’s heart swell. This of course wasn’t the first time they’d played with boundaries, submission and restraints but still John cherished these moments more than he could say. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even find words deep and meaningful enough to voice his appreciation. Because it wasn’t simply appreciation, it was love and trust and — something utterly more. Someone more able with his words would be able to say just what it was that John was feeling but John was no poet.

“You remember the safe word?” John asked while rubbing Sherlock’s earlobe between his thumb and index finger. Sherlock’s features took on a slight air of annoyance and John tried not to laugh at the eye rolling that was happening even as Sherlock had his eyes closed.

“Yes.” John could almost hear the ‘ _obviously’_ even though Sherlock tried extremely hard not to let it show. It was endearing. Sometimes Sherlock pushed back, all too clearly craving for John to show his dominance and pushing the boundaries between pain and pleasure.

“Good,” The handcuffs were on the bedside table. John hooked them around the bedpost and fastened them securely on Sherlock’s wrists. John got up and pulled the jumper over his head.

“I want you to watch” John told as he went to move the mirror from the corner and positioned it so Sherlock could see them on the bed. When John had seen the huge mirror the first time he’d told Sherlock he simply had to have it. Sherlock had been a pain in the ass about it but when John explained he wanted to buy the mirror so he could watch himself fucking Sherlock, blushingly Sherlock had changed his mind and bought it. They had used it only a couple of times because Sherlock wasn’t wholly comfortable with looking at himself while they were intimate. John was going to show Sherlock how beautiful he was when they were making love and that there was nothing embarrassing about looking at himself while in the throes of passion.

Once John had the mirror positioned to the perfect position, he started undressing. He took his time folding the clothes while Sherlock watched and waited.

“Look at how hard I am already for you Sherlock.” John took his cock in his hand, keeping his grip loose, slowly running his hand up and down the length of himself. Sherlock let out a small whimper. “Are you hard as well Sherlock?”

“Yes.” The word sounded almost like a groan. There was no eye roll at the end of that word or even the silent _‘obviously’_.  Colour was rising in Sherlock’s cheeks and he made a slight change in his position on the bed.

“Christ, you’re beautiful like this.” Sherlock closed his eyes for a second on hearing the praise, as if taking time to plant the compliment firmly in his mind palace. Sherlock loved it when John complimented him and he had decided a long time ago to compliment him whenever he got the chance.

John moved to the end of the bed, trailing his hand behind him. It was impossible for him to stop touching Sherlock. He wasn’t even sure how he managed to get so lucky as to have Sherlock like this. He hadn’t even dared to hope for this. Not after everything that had happened to them. Not because it was Sherlock and Sherlock didn’t have relationships, and not because John wasn’t gay.

He crawled on the bed, positioning himself behind Sherlock. He massaged Sherlock’s arse with both hands, loving the feeling of them under his palms. He gave each cheek a couple of swift slaps and Sherlock moaned loudly. The skin turned to a lovely pink shade and John leaned in, kissing and licking the irritated skin. _Yeah, not gay at all._

“John.” The breathy moan caused John’s hips to buck forward involuntarily. Sherlock sounded wrecked. John had never been that into causing pain between the sheets but after witnessing the reactions Sherlock had, he’d changed his mind about the whole thing. He had a habit with that too, changing his mind when it came to Sherlock; because Sherlock was the exception. John wasn’t gay but he loved Sherlock. He loved Sherlock with every cell in his body.

John could feel the ache in his cock, pleasure and anticipation thrumming through his veins, pulsing between his legs with each beat of his heart. He leaned down further, licking at the perineum. A shiver ran through Sherlock and a breathy moan escaped his lips and was muffled by the pillow. With feather light touch John licked around the furled skin, making Sherlock’s thighs tremble. John would have never thought this would be something he would enjoy but with Sherlock it felt arousing,

John lapped the skin between Sherlock’s arse cheeks and Sherlock moaned with abandon, pushing himself against John’s face. “Stay still, Sherlock.” John commanded before pushing the cheeks apart to give himself more room to work his tongue on the ring of muscle.

By the time he’d worked the muscle loose enough to his satisfaction Sherlock was shaking and breathing loudly. John’s breath got stuck in his throat when he turned his eyes towards the mirror and found Sherlock watching him with eyes filled with love and devotion and need. Sherlock had never been prone to public displays of affection (or even private displays of affection) and most of the times he was an utter dick but then there were times like these when he showed just how much John meant to him. John cherished these moments and kept them close to his heart so he could remind himself that he actually loved the prat when he was acting like a — well an utter and complete prat.

John got up from the bed, his muscles stiff and went to get the riding crop. Once Sherlock saw the crop he whimpered and bit his lip. His back dipped as Sherlock pushed his backside higher up in the air. Sherlock had a thing about riding crops. At first John had been reluctant to use them in their bedroom activities because of _The Woman_ and because he was afraid to cause such pain for him. It was different when he used his hand. With the crop it came too close to the things Sherlock had had to endure during his time dismantling Moriarty’s network. After many lengthy conversations John started to give in; if it was something Sherlock wanted then who he was to deny him.

“I’m going to hit you five times with this crop and you are going to count them for me.” Sherlock had his eyes pinched closed and John would be very surprised if his lips weren’t bleeding at the end of this session, so hard he was biting them. “Sherlock, do you understand?”

“Yes, John.”

John caressed Sherlock’s arse with the crop before bringing it back and smacking the white skin with force enough to make the skin red.

“One.” Sherlock already sounded wrecked and John was glad he could give this to Sherlock. The crop came down a second time and Sherlock groaned out loud and slightly thrust his pelvis forward. “Two.” The thirds strike hit straight to the same spot as the second and Sherlock’s legs trembled. “Three” the word came out huskily, out of breath. John felt his knees weaken upon hearing and seeing Sherlock like this.

“F — Four.” Sherlock was gripping the pillow tight, jaw clenched. His breathing was shallow and Sherlock’s whole body trembled. The last strike came and Sherlock uttered out a sound that was half a hiss of pain and half a breathy moan. “Five.”

John dropped the crop to the floor and dropped to his knees behind Sherlock, kissing the reddened skin tenderly. “You did well. You are so good to me Sherlock, so beautiful, so perfect.” Sherlock was nearly hyperventilating from the pain and pleasure and compliments.

“Turn around.” John made sure to use his ‘army voice’ in these situations. He stood up and settled to his proudest army stance as Sherlock turned around and watched him. Sherlock looked wrecked and open and incredibly vulnerable that John had a hard time keeping his pose and not hurry to his side. Sherlock looked back with gratitude and unabashedly stared at John.

Sherlock was lying on his back, long and slim and so incredibly beautiful John had to stare for a minute or two. John loved looking at Sherlock, everywhere and whenever he got the chance. When their friendship had turned to relationship John had realized how much he had tried _not_ to stare at Sherlock but apparently he had fooled no one and everyone knew how he felt about Sherlock even before he himself realized it.

John got back on the bed again, pushed a spare pillow under Sherlock’s hips and coated his fingers with lube. Sherlock was watching him and John stared back as he pushed the first finger in. Sherlock was biting his lower lip, pupils dilated and his penis red and leaking between his legs. If he had to take a picture of the most beautiful thing in the world, this would be it surely. John couldn’t think anything more beautiful than this (of course his daughter was competing for that prize as well but there was no way he was choosing out of those two options).

The second finger slid in with ease and with practiced fingers he located the prostate and massaged it until Sherlock was breathless and shaking with need. Then he eased up on the prostate massaging and inserted the third finger, working Sherlock open. John tried not to smile at the way Sherlock was biting his lips so he wouldn’t demand John to get a move on.

When John had opened Sherlock up enough he slid his fingers out and slicked his penis with more lube. He slid in with minimal resistance and Sherlock groaned under him. The tightness was overwhelming and he was sure he wouldn’t last long. John leaned in, kissing Sherlock before pulling out and thrusting back in with force. He shifted his position, searching for the angle so his penis would massage against Sherlock’s prostate with each thrust of his hips. Still, after all these years, John found it hard to believe he could have this, to have Sherlock in his life. All those years ago he had decided he would take whatever Sherlock wanted to give. He was utterly grateful and surprised Sherlock had wanted to share the Baker Street flat with him.

Once John got the right angle he kept his thrusts hard. Pushing in fast and pulling out gently. It was torture; sweet torture to hold himself from ploughing Sherlock but taking his time with him. Sherlock’s breathing was shallow and he was moaning and pleading him to move faster. John stopped moving all together. “Sherlock,” John growled the name out and Sherlock opened the eyes he’d closed, “were my instructions unclear?” Sherlock was shaking his head with desperation even before John managed to finish his question.

“No, John. Please, I’m sorry.” There were only a handful of times Sherlock had sounded so wrecked and most of the times had happened in occasions like this.

Finally John couldn’t stand still any longer. As much as he wanted to prolong this, the feeling of wholeness and intimacy and trust, he was only a man. He tried to keep the steady pace but the need was building up. He leaned in towards Sherlock, locking their gaze. “I want you to come like this, Sherlock. Untouched.” Sherlock let out a whimper. John knew he wasn’t going to last long and Sherlock looked like he was on the brink of orgasm as well.

John could read the doubt and uncertainty in Sherlock’s eyes. He looked so sure there was no way he could orgasm without some stimulation on his prick. “You can do it, love.” The heat was coiling in John’s abdomen.

“I’m not going to last long,” John breathed out to Sherlock’s ear before leaning back and lifting Sherlock’s legs over his shoulder’s , “if you haven’t orgasmed by that time I’m going to finish you off with my fingers, using my sperm as lube and I’m going to keep massaging your prostate mercilessly until you come.” John pounded as hard as he could, hitting Sherlock’s prostate with each thrust.

“John.” Sherlock breathed out, his eyes wide open as his penis twitched as he orgasmed and Sherlock came all over his abdomen. Sherlock was moaning so loud John was extremely glad he’d gotten Mrs. Hudson to leave the apartment for the night. The sight of Sherlock in the throes of passion was almost enough for John to ejaculate himself. Sherlock’s hole twitching around his dick did the trick and with a last thrust John came with a shout deep inside of Sherlock.

He collapsed over Sherlock, spent and satiated. Sherlock was breathing hard under him and John was finding it difficult to breathe.

With the remaining energy John managed to pull himself out and rolled over next to Sherlock, trying to even out his breathing. Once he felt he could move again John reached over Sherlock for the handcuff keys on the bedside table and released Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock was still breathing deeply and keeping his eyes closed as John settled on his side next to Sherlock and massaged his wrists gently. John pulled them towards him and kissed the reddened skin tenderly, with love and appreciation. He had bought a furry cover for the handcuffs ages ago but Sherlock had refused to use them.

“Thank you John.” Sherlock’s voice was hoarse as he turned to face John. Sherlock looked more relaxed than he had done in days.

Sherlock didn’t say it but sometimes he struggled with what their life was like now. They couldn’t take as many cases as they used to take and the ones they did weren’t as dangerous as before. They had a child to grow and a family to protect. It wasn’t as if Sherlock somehow regretted the choices they made in the past or that he didn’t love the life they had now but he was an adrenaline junkie, as was John. It only meant that they had to invent new ways to keep their blood pumping and keep the excitement in their life. Luckily they had also managed to pull their heads out of their arses and admitted that there was more to their friendship. Sherlock had discovered that sex, while it was messy and sometimes weird, could be extremely rejuvenating.

“Happy anniversary, Sherlock.” Sherlock pushed John to his back and splayed himself all over him, holding John as tightly as he could. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, kissing the top of his head.

“I love you John.” Sherlock murmured against John’s chest before falling asleep on top of John.

“Love you too, Sherlock.” John whispered back and pulled the covers over them. Two years ago they had finally kissed for the first time. It had been unplanned, sudden and awkward but it had led to this and John couldn’t believe how lucky he had gotten. With Sherlock’s help he had gotten his life back after the war took it from him. A lot had happened over the years but he wouldn’t change one bit of it. John was happy, truly and utterly happy.


End file.
